18. The Great Panty Smuggler
Chapter 18
The Great Panty Smuggler
CINDER
K aison looks like he’s having a stroke. Or maybe an aneurism?
When he stepped into my bedchamber in the castle he started to say something, but the words died on his lips once he saw me.
His eyes widen, a flicker of surprise and something deeper, more primal, dancing in their depths. I watch as his gaze travels the length of my body, from the delicate pearls at my throat to the sinful sweep of my skirt. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard, and I can't help the thrill of satisfaction that shoots through me at his reaction.
The royal stylists did in fact take over for Dame Kiki and even I have to admit they did me up right.
Before, I’d been dressed to be innocuous, to fit in. Now I’m dressed to stand out, a true royal.
I’m adorned in a cascade of rich plum that darkens to black as it tumbles to the floor. The bodice fits tightly to my chest, making it difficult to breathe.
The off-the-shoulder cut leaves my collarbones bare and exposed, feeling oddly vulnerable and yet defiant. Each billowing sleeve starts as a circle around my bicep, cinching at my wrists.
The skirt is a masterpiece. With each movement I make it flares and flows, layers of shadow and sin, echoing the whisper of leaves against ancient tombstones. It's drama and elegance. Beautiful, yes, but with an edge that says approach with caution.
The finishing touch is a choker of pearls at my throat, a stark contrast to the dark dress. It looks almost like a string of tiny moons captured and strung just for me. But I know it's a collar—a sign of bondage reminding me that tonight I am bound to a role I must play.
My mood turned absolutely brittle when they insisted on covering up my tattoos with makeup. Everyone knows who I am and what I am now. I tried to argue I shouldn’t have to blot out my ink, but the bloodsuckers insisted I needed to look like a princess befitting Midnight.
I enjoyed the way the stylists backed away as I plucked out my bits of silver, as if concerned I’d chuck the harmful jewelry at their heads. I always get a little irritable when I have to take out all my visible piercings. Though to be fair, Kaison has to do the same.
I still need to ask him how he got them. Midnight isn’t big on tattoos or piercings but he seems to easily straddle both realms. Maybe he got them in the Common World?
It’s all worth it when for once, the silver-tongued prince seems at a loss for words.
He takes a step toward me, drawn by an invisible force. His hand rises, fingers twitching as if he wants to reach out and touch the exposed skin of my shoulder, but he lets it drop back to his side.
“Cinder, you look. . .” He trails off, shaking his head clear.
“Like a princess?” I offer.
“Like the most powerful, dangerously seductive creature I’ve ever beheld.”
Heat creeps up my neck at the raw honesty in his voice and the way he says my name—so intimate. It's not the practiced flattery of a playboy prince but something more genuine, more vulnerable. For a moment I see past the mask he wears, catching a glimpse of the man beneath.
But as quickly as it appears the moment is gone. Kaison blinks, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face. “You clean up nicely, for a goth girl.”
I scoff, the spell broken. “And you're still an ass for a prince.”
Though he also fits his station in matching burgundy and black colors, the leather gloves back on his hands and his collar pulled up to obscure his beautiful tattoos.
He clutches his chest in mock offense. “You wound me, my lady.”
Despite myself a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. This is the dance we do, the push and pull of our strange, unlikely partnership.
It's a dangerous thing, this attraction simmering between us. I know I can't afford to let it distract me, to let him get too close.
As Kaison offers me his arm, his eyes glinting with a promise of mischief and mayhem, I can't help but wonder if it's already too late.
“You seem to be feeling better.” Kaison smirks, propping his hip against a chest of drawers in the sitting room.
I want to tell him he’s wrong, but I can’t deny that my mood has improved. After another night at work, I forced him to stop at an all-night cafe so I could get a massive pumpkin spice latte and a slice of pumpkin spice sweet bread while we took the long way to my apartment through the graveyard.
Autumn is the best freakin’ time of year and I come alive in these conditions, whether in Midnight or Boston.
Then I filled a backpack with my favorite pumpkin spice candles, my cozy fall sweaters, and some art supplies.
If I have to live in Midnight, I might as well make myself comfortable. And I feel infinitely better with my plushy of the Grim Reaper. You can turn it inside out and it turns into Anubis, the of the Dead. I change my little Grim back and forth based on my mood.
We got to the castle with no one the wiser. We stayed up all night only to return to a flurry of activity as the day in Midnight began.
I was swept away to the dress designers where I had to stand for hours on end while they took measurements and tested different fabrics.
Then I was forced to sit through an interminable history lesson, followed by some boring meetings about philanthropic event planning, while being told approximately one million times my job was to serve Midnight as its future Queen.
Though every fairy who tried to get those words out choked on them a little.
Now we’re dressed and prepped to attend a banquet in our honor.
Tonight is going to be a bitch. But to be fair, so am I.
“I would have never guessed you to go for such a cliche.” Kaison crosses his arms over his chest.
I give him my best death glare. “Don’t be a counter-culture snob. You only hate pumpkin spice because it’s popular.”
He shrugs. “It just seems like people make a lot of fuss in the Common World over the fall season and certain flavors.”
His backpedaling is not going to get him out of this. “First off,” I hold up a finger. “I know you mean women make a lot of fuss. Second,” I raise another finger, “The world, no matter what realm you are in, can be a truly shitty place. Don’t shame me for finding enjoyment in my hyperfixation. And the fact that it’s popular? Well, how dare you enjoy blood, because, like, everybody in Midnight is into that. It’s so overdone that you come off as a thoughtless sheep.”
Eyes sparkling, his lips twitch as he tries and fails to suppress a smile. He raises his hands. “I surrender. Forgive me for besmirching the joy that is spiced anything, and may you flog me should I do it again.”
I lift my chin in what I hope comes off as haughty indignation. “Don’t tempt me.”
“Oh, I think I might,” he says in a low husk.
There is something impossibly. . . impossible about Prince Charming.
There is an ebb and flow to our banter that I can’t but help get a spark of enjoyment from.
And then there was the way his hard body submitted under mine allowing me to achieve pleasure in a way I’d never known possible.
A lusty fog rolls through my mind before drifting south. I sharply inhale through my nose, trying to mitigate the effect he has on me.
“I do have to warn you, my dark princess, this dinner is going to be unbearably boring,” he says dryly. “In fact, it promises to be so stifling and pretentious that we very well may die.”
“Fantastic,” I say in a flat voice. “Can’t wait.”
“Which is why,” he draws out the last word like an excited kid, “I thought we could have a little fun.” From his pocket, he pulls out a pair of dark purple panties that are strappy, lacy, and have something heavier set against the crotch.
“What are those?”
The question is out before I can stop myself.
Kaison looks back and forth between me and the scrap of fabric.
“Why, my darling bride, these are the answer to surviving a night of dull nonsense and barely restrained dismay.”
“You want me,” I point at myself, before pointing at the underwear, “to wear those?”
One dark brow dips as he regards them again. “Well, I suppose I could shimmy them on, but I do maintain they will be a far better time for you.”
A far better time.
Oh sweet fae lords, the piece on the crotch is a vibrator. They are massaging panties, and he is suggesting I put them on. For dinner.
“How—how can those even work? There are no electronics in Midnight.”
There’s a devilish gleam in his eye. “I smuggled in batteries .” The last word comes out as a low hiss of conspiracy.
I shake my head despite the heat swirling and coiling around my lower belly at the thought.
“Oh, come on, Cinder,” he says, his voice dropping to a low timbre that has my nipples wrenching into tight, sensitive buds. I’m starting to doubt the decision to pierce my nipples, as it makes my reactions to Charming all the more intense.
“After all, my little black rose,” he drawls, setting a hand on either arm of the chair I’m in, caging me in, “the panties don’t have fangs.”
His words are equal parts seduction and challenge.
With an unladylike snort, I snatch the underwear from his hands. His eyes widen as he stands back, giving me room. It’s almost as if he didn’t believe I’d actually do it.
It’s not a good habit to fall into, intentionally trying to shock him, because he might think I want more of his attention than I do.
But I can’t help but delight in the way he pales when I bend over, pulling them right over my feet to draw them up my legs.
Take that prince slut muffin. I can play too.
“Don’t you need to take off—” He swallows hard while pulling at his collar.
“I’m not wearing any,” I cut him off.
I want to laugh. Kaison, the fairy prince who has slept with likely hundreds, if not thousands of willing partners, is acting like a wolfish cartoon character whose tongue has rolled out of his head while his eyes turn into little fires.
His reaction is so satisfying I almost believe I’m not an idiot for putting these panties on.